


For A Night

by Niyin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NO rape/non-con between Geralt and Jaskier, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Underage, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Rape Recovery, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niyin/pseuds/Niyin
Summary: Redania has an old tradition where boys are trained in music and poetry to eventually serve the court, bards in name but just as commonly used for sexual favours.Geralt meets Jaskier during the harvest-holiday celebration at a Redanian court.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 68





	For A Night

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the musical 'The Boy Who Danced On Air' which in turn is based on a real-life practice called Bacha Bazi that still exists in Afghanistan today. In this practice, young boys (aged about 12-13) are taken in by older men, taught to dance and often used for sexual purposes until they come of age. Many of them are treated no better than slaves and some are killed. This fic in no way condones Bacha Bazi or any similar practices, as should be clear once you read on.
> 
> Jaskier is of age at the beginning of this fic, but there are allusions to past underage, as well as some non-con kissing/groping.

_I could be desire, I could be a hunger  
I could be your deep unspoken needs  
I could be excitement, I could be a comfort  
I’ll be your every dream  
For a night_

_~ For A Night, from The Boy Who Danced On Air_

Geralt detested this kind of celebration. The hall was an exercise in extravagance, filled with all kinds of higher and lower nobility, all clad in the latest Redanian fashion. Beautiful women decorated with the richest of gems and jewels, and yet themselves hardly more than decoration on the arms of the men leading them. Viscounts and barons patting themselves on the back for their newest political or economical coup, all while they listened suspiciously to what their neighbours had to say. Even the walls were adorned with gold and silver, reflecting the light of the many chandeliers.

The amount of gold hurt Geralt’s eyes. The fake laughter grated on his nerves. He felt dirty from the looks he had received and the comments he had overheard, even though he had escaped to a secluded spot between two tall columns as quickly as possible. If he had to listen to one more person complain about the “dreadful weather we’ve had this summer, really, we had to spend the whole season in our second residence down south in Cintra,” or the way “gold prices keep fluctuating, the only safe investment nowadays is in land”, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

“Well, _you_ look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Geralt suppressed a growl as he spun around to face the newcomer. He wasn’t hard to spot, a young man of maybe twenty summers dressed in a gold-and-red doublet that was halfway undone to show off the chemise below. The amount of visible skin was daring even in this milieu. The outfit was topped off with a crimson hat adorned with a white feather, though the man had pushed the hat back to show the messy brown hair below. He was leaning against the column with an easy smile that made his blue eyes twinkle.

“Seriously, I love how you just stand in the corner and… brood,” the man continued, eyeing Geralt in a way that might have been suggestive if the corners of his mouth weren’t twitching suspiciously. “What’s a man like you doing in a place like this?”

“Celebrating,” Geralt deadpanned and the newcomer actually snorted before he covered up the inelegant sound with a polite cough.

Truth be told, Geralt had spent most of the evening so far alternately finding new places to hide in the (luckily very large) hall and cursing the fact that he had ever taken the contract at all. It had sounded like a simple job, a nest of wyverns that had taken up residence in a more secluded wing of the palace, easy enough to fend off with a silver sword. Of course, the wyverns had turned out to be a single large basilisk. Geralt had barely made it out of the palace alive, entirely unprepared as he had been to face such a beast.

When he had gone to confront the Duke and demand fair pay for the job, the man had laughed in his face and told Geralt to stay for the celebration of Lammas, the harvest-holiday, and choose an adequate recompense from his belongings. By now, Geralt was very tempted to simply leave this entire fucking estate - or better yet, the whole country of Redania, entrenched as it was in the cult of nobility - behind him. The only thing that had stopped him was the suspicion that this was exactly what the Duke had intended with his invitation.

The newcomer was still watching him curiously, obviously not deterred by Geralt’s court response. “Let me guess. A former soldier or general suddenly come into wealth? You’ve spent most of the evening hiding from everyone else, so you weren’t hired for protection, though you certainly have the physique for it. And I want to bet that actually _is_ a dagger in your trousers.”

“Maybe I don’t take my guard duty seriously," Geralt argued, though he eyed the man with newfound respect. The Duke's guards certainly hadn't noticed his dagger.

The other snorted again. “Right. Because hiding in the darkest corner is the best way to enjoy any feast.”

“It’s certainly made this one more bearable,” Geralt retorted and suppressed the little flutter of warmth in his chest when the other man grinned.

“Definitely not born nobility, then. White hair, _very_ nice eyes-” He winked, impervious when Geralt only blinked, nonplussed. “-a bit of a loner. Not to forget, armed with more than a ceremonial sword and very sober in the middle of a Lammas celebration. Oh, fun. I know who you are. You are the witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

And that was that. Geralt scowled, mentally preparing himself for the comments that would come next, the ridiculous rumours or the nervous laughter. Maybe he should turn his back and walk away while he could still remember this as a pleasant conversation. It might be the last one he would have tonight.

Before he could convince himself to move back into the crowd, the other man was suddenly standing right in front of him, holding out a hand that Geralt took on instinct.

“My name is Jaskier,” he introduced himself as he shook Geralt’s hand firmly, with more strength than Geralt had expected. There were calluses on Jaskier’s hands as well, he noticed.

“You play the lute?”

For the first time in their short meeting, Jaskier’s smile wavered, face visibly closing off as he abruptly pulled back his hand. “How…”

“The calluses on your fingertips,” Geralt explained quickly, before he lost his strange new conversation partner after all. “They are very different from those earned by fighting or manual labour.”

“Not all of us can fight with a sword,” Jaskier retorted, but to Geralt’s relief he relaxed a little. “Haven’t you heard? Words are the strongest weapons.”

Geralt snorted. “Sure. I’ll remember that next time a basilisk nearly bites my head clean off.”

“See, you could have simply talked to it and convinced it that humans actually taste disgusting.”

“Or I could have brought it here. It would've been a win either way, whether it realised how distasteful humans are or just decided to eat everyone.” Geralt realised too late that Jaskier was a guest at this feast as well and might object to his acquaintances being devoured by a magical beast, but it turned out he needn’t have worried. 

“That might be a case of wishful thinking,” Jaskier said with a grin that was all teeth, something strangely fierce and dark shining in his eyes. A second later, the expression was replaced by a bland, polite smile again. “Though you do have to tell me. Can basilisks really turn their victims to stone with one look? And what about merpeople? I heard that they can enthral a whole ship with a single tune and lure them all down to the ocean floor. And dragons. Do they exist, or are they merely a figment of overactive imagination?”

Geralt blinked, momentarily overwhelmed by the amount of questions. No one ever truly wanted to hear about his work - at least as long as he did it well enough to keep them safe. “Dragons exist, though they have grown rare. Merpeople are peaceful, but sirens or nixa have been said to lure fishermen out into the ocean. And if you face a basilisk, your greatest worry should be that it might bite you. They are extremely venomous.”

Jaskier nodded along as Geralt spoke, appearing truly interested in what he was saying. “The statue of the girl in the yard, the one that they say went face to face with a basilisk, is only a statue then?”

“Hm. Maybe.” Geralt didn't know the statue in question, but such myths rarely held much truth. Although... “She might have been cursed.”

“ _Cursed_ ,” Jaskier repeated in the same tone of voice others reserved for an unexpected dessert of chocolate cake. “You absolutely have to tell me more.”

Before Geralt could reply, Jaskier suddenly tilted his head as if listening to some faraway sound. A grimace crossed his face, though once again it was quickly replaced with the easy smile he had worn when he had first addressed Geralt. Having seen the real thing, Geralt realised how false it was, though it was a better imitation than most of the assembled nobles had managed.

“…later,” Jaskier amended. “You absolutely have to tell me more after the feast, if you plan on sticking around. Now, I’m afraid I have some obligations to attend to, but I trust that you can look after yourself. Some of the viscounts and countesses might be nearly as venomous as your basilisk, but I’m told they generally don’t bite other guests.”

Geralt only grunted. He still wasn’t sure if he would wait out the whole feast, much less stick around afterwards. Jaskier must have read the thought in his eyes and he hesitated, his smile shrinking into something both more real and a lot more sombre. 

“Best of luck, Geralt. I hope to see you again some day.”

Before Geralt could say anything in return, Jaskier had already ducked around the columns and disappeared back into the crowd. Geralt was left standing in a space that suddenly felt too empty, even though that had been his exact goal in the first place. He spent some more time loitering in the corner before a couple came along, the boy giggling and blushing as the much older noble he was with pulled him close. Geralt slunk back into the shadows as the older man pushed the younger against one of the columns and slid a hand up his shirt, preferring to escape without being seen.

The evening seemed to drag on forever, but with Jaskier’s strange words in his ear and the memory of the other’s dark smile, Geralt resigned himself to endure the inane chatter and badly-hidden whispers. He didn’t manage to talk to Jaskier again, though he did see him performing for a group of men in the far corner of the hall. The hall was large enough that there were several musicians playing at once, all boys and young men dressed in similarly colourful outfits. 

Geralt let himself drift closer to listen to Jaskier’s performance for a while. The bard had a pleasant voice, though something inside Geralt's chest twisted weirdly when he caught Jaskier winking at the small crowd he had gathered. They laughed and reached out with appreciative hands when he got too close, though Jaskier danced away again before anyone could actually touch him.

It didn’t improve Geralt’s mood or his respect for the Redanian nobility assembled here. Most of the men in the audience were twice the bard's age and had their wives by their side, watching with polite boredom at their husbands' antics. Several times Geralt was nearly ready to go over and pull Jaskier away, but the bard seemed to be in his element, playing and singing and flirting all at the same time. What right did Geralt have to interrupt? They weren't even acquaintances. If Jaskier wanted to talk to him more, he could seek him out. It wasn’t like Geralt was hiding. Anymore.

His glare sufficed to keep most other guests at a distance, at least, though it didn’t stop the whispers spreading behind his back. _A witcher. I hear they are more beast than men_ , one woman commented, leaning closer to her partner as if seeking protection. Another snorted, critical eyes examining Geralt. _This one definitely_ , she returned. _Haven’t you heard of the Butcher of Blaviken? He slaughtered a whole village because one of the children dared to address him, I hear._

Geralt very deliberately blocked out the conversation after that.

When the evening started to turn into night, he tried to seek out the Duke again, though his attempts were quickly obstructed. The man had spent most of the evening either surrounded by a small crowd of lower nobility grovelling and fawning upon him in hopes of currying his favour, or up on the dais protected by guards. There was no way for Geralt to get close without causing a fight in the middle of the celebration, so he reluctantly resigned himself to waiting some more.

Soon after, a very nervous young page approached him and told him that a room was being prepared for him and he might seek an audience with the Duke in the morrow if he still wished to do so. Geralt couldn’t suppress a growl at the words and the poor boy turned a whole shade paler, scurrying away as quickly as he could without outright running. Geralt was too angry to really care. This was exactly why he usually tried to avoid nobility of any kind. They all thought the laws, even those of normal human decency, didn’t apply to them.

He waited till the feast was drawing to a close, hoping to still catch the Duke unawares, but no such luck. Even Jaskier had disappeared some time ago. Probably recovering from all the looks and little touches, Geralt thought. He himself definitely felt like he needed a bath or three, even though hardly anyone had dared approach him besides the bard.

Finally, Geralt had to give up and he went in search of his room instead. The page had squeaked out a description of how to get there, but he had been too terrified to use more than the bare minimum of words. The hallways all looked more or less the same, heavy red carpets and silken wall hangings of a slightly lighter shade. Geralt wondered absently how many clothes a seamstress could have made with the amount of silk wasted here.

He must have been more distracted than he thought, for he only noticed the couple leaning in the corner when he was almost upon them, freezing when the shadows suddenly came to life and revealed two figures. They obviously hadn't noticed Geralt yet either. One of them, a large blond man in a blue silk vest, had his back to the hallway, while his partner was mostly hidden behind him, pressed against the wall. Geralt made to silently step backwards as the man let his hands roam across his partner, heated kissing interspersed with hushed words.

“I’ve been watching you all evening. Such a tease…” Another kiss. “Prancing around the hall like that, drawing everyone’s eyes. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you? But I won’t let you get away this easily, oh no.”

The words made Geralt stop and tense, wondering if he should step in, but the partner didn’t say anything as they let themselves be manhandled. He took another step backwards, closer to the next branch of the hallway. Some couples liked to play like this. There was certainly nothing wrong with it as long as both partners were on board.

He had nearly reached the hallway when his eyes fell on the lute leaning a few metres from the couple against the wall and Geralt froze again, his veins suddenly filled with ice. It couldn’t be.

“All your little songs and taunts. But don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to respect your betters. I’ll show you who you belong to, my little lark.”

The person against the wall whimpered softly at what looked like a bruising kiss and Geralt could hear their heartrate pick up, though he wasn’t certain if it was in fear or excitement. Either way, the larger man didn’t seem to care.

“Just like that,” he groaned, pressing his partner further into the corner. “I'll ruin you for everyone else, make sure that you can’t even get out of bed tomorrow. That will teach you to parade around like that.”

There was a hat lying crumpled at their feet, Geralt realised, its white feather sad and broken from being stepped on.

That was the last straw.

Geralt rushed forward with a growl, tearing the blond man away from his companion and pushing him up against the wall instead. The man gasped and gaped, but Geralt didn’t care, completely focused on the second man still leaning in the corner.

Jaskier’s eyes were wide and his hair dishevelled, standing up in wild strands. His doublet had been torn open even further and the chemise was rucked up, revealing pale skin littered with red marks that would likely form bruises in the morning. His lips were very red, swollen from the kissing. This close, Geralt could smell a trace of blood on the air, and he growled again.

The man in his grasp had the courage - or maybe the idiocy - to make a protesting sound. “Have you never heard of waiting your turn? He’s mine for the night, with the Duke's blessing. You might be able to have him tomorrow, if you’re so keen.”

Geralt abruptly wheeled on him, fixing him with a cold gaze that showed exactly what he thought of the suggestion. The man paled rapidly and held up his hands in a placatory gesture. “You should have taken it up with the Duke sooner if you wanted him tonight. Those are the rules.”

It only served to make Geralt angrier. What kind of fucking rules was the man talking about?

“Your Duke owes me a favour for not letting the basilisk devour all his precious guests,” he snarled finally, deciding that playing along would likely be the fastest way to get rid of the man. “He told me to choose a recompense from his possessions. I have chosen.”

The man seemed to muster up the courage to protest again, so Geralt leaned even closer and bared his teeth in a dangerous smile. “I trust you’ve heard what happens to people who displease me? There is a reason they call me a Butcher.”

Geralt could see the exact second the man recognized who was standing in front of him as he let out an embarrassing squeak, eyes growing wide. “Or we can switch, of course," he offered quickly. "You take the bard tonight, if it means so much to you. I can always wait till tomorrow.”

Geralt’s hand clenched in the man’s shirt and he pushed him into the wall once more as a warning before he let go and took a step back. If he started murdering the Duke’s guests, he could certainly forget any idea of recompense. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

The man sent Geralt another wide-eyed look before he turned tail and scurried down the hallway, disappearing at a near-run. Geralt listened to his fading footsteps until he was confident that the man wouldn’t try to lurke somewhere and come back later. Then he finally turned back to Jaskier.

The bard had pulled himself upright again and straightened his chemise, though he still looked a bit rumpled and Geralt noted that he hadn’t closed his doublet. His eyes were wide and slightly dazed, as if he wasn't entirely present.

When Jaskier noticed Geralt's attention, though, his entire demeanour changed in a heartbeat. Gone was the confusion, the pain, the strange daze. All of a sudden, the bard's too-red lips pulled into a small, almost predatory smile and he advanced slowly, backing Geralt against the wall when he instinctively took a step back. Geralt could feel Jaskier's voice vibrating against his skin when the other leaned forward until they were chest-to-chest.

“It seems you’ve won me for the entire night, my dear Lord Witcher.”

Something inside Geralt’s stomach fluttered strangely when Jaskier glanced up at him through long lashes, one hand trailing lazily across Geralt’s shoulder and down his chest. The bard must have noticed his reaction and his smile widened, though his eyes were still just a tad too hard. And yet, his voice continued in a purr as he slowly and very deliberately sank to his knees in front of Geralt.

“How may I serve you, my lord?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome. If you need me to tag anything, please tell me!

**Author's Note:**

> The musical 'The Boy Who Danced on Air' is a very beautiful retelling of a horrible tradition and I can only recommend it. The soundtrack can be found entirely on Spotify or YouTube.
> 
> There is also a documentary about the real-life practice of Bacha Bazi on [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B7eMUwkKiFY).


End file.
